


No One Is Listening

by PurpleMoon3



Series: Bite Sized Bits of Fic [13]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Arya Never Left the Faceless, F/M, Marital Rape (mentioned), She Got Her Dream Assignment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 08:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12229119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMoon3/pseuds/PurpleMoon3
Summary: "Well, assassination is natural causes for a king." - Granny Weatherwax, Wyrd Sisters





	No One Is Listening

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Prompt: [Any, Any, The Way of Kings](https://comment-fic.livejournal.com/847320.html?thread=105050840#t105050840)

"Lady Sansa," Theon says in a hush, broken teeth and an even more broken spirit making each word a trial. Sansa removes her glare from the books that the late Lord Bolton couldn't be bothered to keep, and tucks it away to grace Theon with her Lady's Face. "The Karstarks are here."  
  
Sansa nods and rises, her guards and Theon falling in around her as she makes her way to the Great Hall. Unlike the Red Keep, Winterfell's stones are as gray as the Northern skies despite a shared history of bloodshed. Sansa does not know which occurred first - the poison or the blade? What she does know she tells none but the maester with her words wrapped in delicately formed questions.  
  
She never saw the killer's face: the Bastard of Bolton enjoyed taking her like the wolf-bitch she was. It was the wet warmth that pooled on her back, and the frantic, weak spasms of her dying husband's nails on her skin that let her know they'd an audience. Relief muddled the fear that held her heart hostage, the last blood of Bolton slowly sliding off the bed, and Sansa had resolutely not moved until she heard the unlatching of the lock and the old hinges creak.  
  
The houndmaster's daughter's face had been abandoned on the floor by the door.  
  
A handful of days later Roslin Tully had arrived at Winterfell with Sansa's tiny cousin in tow and a tale on her lips.  Any other would believe the woman mad for even daring to think a Bolton free Winterfell would be welcoming to a scion of Walder Frey.  Any other would hear her words - _Winter came for House Frey, but my Cat is a Tully_ \- and think them nothing but a weak woman's delusions.  
  
But Sansa is Lady of Winterfell, and when the ravens arrive in the weeks after her uncle's widow telling how Lord Frey poisoned his own family during a feast celebrating Riverrun's inevitable capitulation under siege she knows.  
  
As Sansa enters the Great Hall she can see that the Karstarks are all bluster, and anger, and she holds a keep with little more than aged servants and green boys. Her Lady's face is as cold as snow as she takes her seat, Theon shuffling quickly to pull it out for her.  Behind them is a peasant boy, face wane and bruised as he tries to make himself small, but the box he holds with a possessive fearfulness brings warmth to her cheeks. Sansa does not know what is inside, but raven arrived first, and she can guess.  
  
"You're late." Sansa says, addressing Harald Karstark. "Ravens were sent requesting oaths of fealty weeks ago."  
  
The man's jaw clenches, and he covers it up with a disgusted sneer.  "We already gave our pledge, Lady _Bolton_."  
  
"Bastards inherit nothing, my Lord."  Sansa says instead, and lowers her eyes as she remembers Margaery doing.  Margaery, who now rules in King's Landing as Queen with an enraged, focused Tommen at her side. "Not land.  Not names. My husband was a Snow.  I am a Stark.  Swear to House Stark."  
  
He is tense and angry, and his own men shift and grumble at his side. Next to Sansa, Roslin hushes little Catlyn by offering a tit to the girl. Finally, Harald gathers his hate and spits it at her: "Whatever blood our Houses once shared, your own brother spilled, girl.  I'll not swear to you - fuck the rumors. There's no ghost here but that reeking thing at your side."  
  
Sansa inclines her head to acknowledge the grievance and motions for the fearful peasant boy to approach.  She does not need the Karstarks.  The Umbers, Mormonts, Manderlys, and Reeds have all pledged, with promises of men to secure her hold.  Thirty bears have been sent ahead of Lyanna Mormont's party and they man her walls faithfully alongside merfolk.

The Lord continues: "I say, to honor the debt your brother made, Winterfell should go to the only true Starks left.  The Karstarks."  
  
It is a threat. One of her few men at arms takes the box from the boy, who dances on his feet in indecision before slinking to the shadows, and places it before her on the high table.  Sansa flicks her long, red hair over her shoulder negligently.  She begins undoing the complicated knots of twine securing the box while speaking, "I have been married twice over, this is true.  Winterfell and the North are still healing, this is also true.  But my father had a saying that was not our house words, and not a motto of sorts the smallfolk like to bandy about, but a simple statement. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell."  
  
The lid of the box is set to the side, and a small smile turns her mouth as she lifts the contents free. The hall goes quiet.  
  
A wig of long, luxurious, golden hair spills out of the box.


End file.
